


100 Drabbles

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Drabbles, F/M, Gen, child!jemma, missing moment ep 1x6, post ep 3x18, tags to be updated as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7200368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got tagged in a <a href="http://memorizingthedigitsofpi.tumblr.com/post/145861515777/100-drabble-challenge-the-emotions-list">100 Drabbles Challenge</a> over on tumblr, and I decided to post them here as well as over there. </p><p>Trying to get myself back into writing. We'll see how it goes!</p><p>[UNFINISHED, MARKED AS COMPLETE] - each chapter is a complete drabble</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jmags_WriterofAwesomeness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmags_WriterofAwesomeness/gifts).



Jemma sat in the waiting room, kicking her feet out and wishing she’d brought more than one book. Her mother and father were talking to her uncle, and everyone was using hushed voices for some reason. The hospital was full of people rushing about and making noise, and she just wanted to be at home in her nice, quiet room.

Her uncle was wearing scrubs and looking tense and had only come out for a moment before disappearing back behind the double doors. Her parents looked worried, and her dad kissed her mum’s cheek and rubbed her back before going to get her some tea. 

“What’s wrong, Mum?” she asked as her mother sat down beside her. 

She smiled bravely back, and it was the kind of smile that Jemma knew was hiding something. 

“Your cousin is having a tough time coming out,” she said. “But the doctors will make sure everything is alright.”

Jemma nodded and kicked her feet out again. 

Several hours later, she woke up feeling fuzzy-headed. She’d curled up in a chair with her teddy bear, and her dad had covered her with his jacket. 

Everyone around her was talking excitedly, and they were all clustered around her uncle. He was crying, but laughing at the same time. She’d never seen that before. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, sitting up. 

Her uncle came over, cradling a blanket in his arms. 

“Jemma,” he said proudly. “I’d like you to meet your cousin.”

She peered into his arms as he bent down and looked into a pair of big brown eyes that looked right through her.

“Hello,” she said in that same hushed voice that everyone else had used ever since they’d entered the hospital. And then she realized that she was laughing and crying, too. 


	2. Enthusiasm

“Jemma,” Fitz moaned theatrically. “I am but one man!”

“Yes,” Jemma nodded agreeably. “ _My_ man.” Leaning over him where he’d collapsed back on the bed in exhaustion, she kissed him fondly. “We’ve got 10 years to make up for, after all,” she pointed out reasonably.

“Not all in one night!” Fitz protested feebly. He wasn’t really complaining, of course. Who would when faced with an insatiable woman who loved him to distraction?

Palming her cheek, her caressed her with his thumb. “We’ve got the rest of our lives, after all,” he said. He still couldn’t quite believe that was true.


	3. Love

"You've been beside _me_ the whole damn time!" Fitz shouted at Simmons through the glass, trying to be angry when he was actually terrified. 

She looked half-dead already. Her skin was waxy and pale, her eyes bloodshot. And in particularly un-Simmons-like fashion, her hair was a mess. She prided herself so much on presenting herself well and looking professional. Somehow that, more than the rest of it, made him realize how serious the situation was.

His heart pounded as she turned away. She was being so quiet. So contained. So... small.

She'd never looked small to him before. She was always larger than life, looming over everyone with her brilliance and her wit.

But now her brilliance had failed her and her wit was gone and she was just... Jemma.

She was Jemma, and she was his best friend, and she was the most important thing in his life. She _was_ his life, and she was dying. _She was dying._ She was dying and she was leaving him behind, and without her, he didn't even know who he _was_.

They were FitzSimmons. They'd _always_ been FitzSimmons. They were always going to _be_ FitzSimmons.

He didn't even know _how_ to be... Fitz.

"You have to fix this," he said, his voice shaky and his brain revolting against the idea that she couldn't.

She _had_ to fix it. _They_ had to fix it. Because if they couldn't...


	4. Hate

"You know what I hate?" Fitz asked rhetorically. He said it with the relish of the truly annoyed. 

Jemma rolled her eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping and head tilting back to look at the Heavens. This was not the first time she'd heard this particular rant, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "When people don't put your tools-"

"-Tools back where they're supposed to go," Fitz nodded emphatically, every muscle tensed with moral outrage. "How difficult is it to read a label? I ask you!"

Jemma sighed and mouthed along as he continued down the same well-worn path as always.

"Use the corresponding label for the corresponding tool," Fitz was saying, gesturing from his specially designed case to the assortment of oddities he now had laid out on the table in front of him. "I've laid them out in that order for a _reason_ , you know! There's an order and a method to follow. You know what happens when you don't follow the correct order and method?"

"Chaos," Jemma answered in a voice of the thoroughly bored.

"Chaos," Fitz agreed vehemently. "And you know what happens when chaos takes over?"

"Evil wins," Jemma responded, looking at her watch and counting down to the end of this particular conversational topic.

"Evil wins, _exactly._ " Fitz carefully laid the last piece of equipment in its perfectly-fitting niche and smoothed proud fingers across its shiny label. "And we can't have that, now can we?"

"Nope," Jemma said, staring flatly ahead as she popped the 'p' sound loudly.

"More people need to be like you, Simmons," Fitz said, closing up the case and stowing it away.

"I know, Fitz," she answered, a small smile on her face. "I know."


	5. Triumph

Jemma practically vibrated with excitement as she walked past the Wall of Valor to the board where the academic standings were posted. There was already a bit of a crowd there, but they were all milling about expectantly. 

It hadn’t been posted yet. 

“Jemma!” Katie Choi called out, waving to her. “Have you heard yet?”

“Not yet,” Jemma said, attempting to look modest. “And it might not be me, you know,” she admitted. “Fitz is in the running, as well.”

“Same thing,” Jean-Denis Roi smirked. 

“Ha ha,” Jemma laughed goodnaturedly. She rolled her eyes, but she still felt tense as Dr. Hall walked across the linoleum floor, his shoes sounding loud in the sudden silence. 

He shouldered his way through the press of students, sighing melodramatically. “Why we continue with this ancient ritual when the internet exists,” he shook his head in exasperation. “Give a man some room, will you?”

After finally clearing enough of a path to get to the board, he glared over his shoulder to force everyone half a step back before he posted the grades. 

“Good luck,” Fitz said, right at Jemma’s elbow. 

She turned with a start and then smiled. “You too,” she said, eyes bright with excitement. 

“Don’t need it,” he winked cockily. 

She drew in a breath to reply with some heat when Katie grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, squeezing her in a tight hug.

“Congratulations!” she squealed, actually lifting her up in her excitement. 

“Really?” Jemma asked, her stomach full of butterflies and her heart almost exploding with pride. 

She watched as Fitz squirmed his way over to the board while more and more people swarmed around her to offer their congrats. When he came back, he had a sour look on his face. 

“Beat me by 0.5%,” he said glumly. 

Jemma grinned beatifically back. “A win’s a win,” she said, quoting back what Fitz so often said himself. “Now pay up.”


	6. Feel

Fitz sat on Jemma's couch trying not to eat all of the popcorn before she joined him. Honestly, how long could one person take getting into pajamas?

"You almost done in there?" he called through a mouthful.

"Hold your horses," she shouted back. Then she padded in with flushed cheeks and damp hair, wearing flannel jimjams. "Is there any popcorn left?" she asked, dropping down on the sofa next to him and swinging her legs into his lap.

"Of _course_ there is," he rolled his eyes passing over the bowl. Then he looked down at her legs and back at her, raising an eyebrow. "And what's this about?" he asked, already knowing.

"I just shaved my legs," Jemma grinned. "They're so smooth! Feel them!" She lifted one leg and wiggled her toes under his nose.

"Ew! Jemma, get off!" Fitz complained, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he shoved her foot out of his face.

"Not until you feel how smooth my legs are," Jemma sing-songed, putting her leg right back in his line of sight again.

" _Must_ we do this every single time?" Fitz groaned, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling in frustration.

"We must," Jemma stated simply. Then she threw a piece of popcorn into the air and tried to catch it in her mouth.

It bounced rather unsatisfactorily off her cheek and onto the floor.

Fitz was still staring at the ceiling, though, so he hadn't noticed.

"Ugh," he rolled his eyes. " _Fine_." Sighing with a world weariness usually associated with grizzled old sea captains who are tired of land lubbers using terms like 'land lubber' incorrectly, he slid his hand up under the cuff of her pajama bottoms and lightly stroked her calf.

"Soft," he said gracelessly.

" _Very_ soft?" Jemma pushed, grinning at his annoyance.

" _Yes_ ," he spat acerbically. " _Very_ soft. Happy?"

"Mmhmm," Jemma said, retracting her legs and curling them under herself with a satisfied smile. "Ready to watch now?" she asked innocently.

"Ready to-!" Fitz said.

The bickering lasted at least another ten minutes.


	7. Wrecked

Jemma slumped down on the floor, exhausted. Leaning over, she rested her head on Fitz’s shoulder, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell of his sweat. She would have lifted her head up, but she was too exhausted. 

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Fitz groaned, still trying to catch his breath.

“Because if we’re going to go into the field, we have to?” Jemma moaned back. As much as she craved the excitement and adventure of a field posting, she was definitely regretting her life choices just now. 

“We’ll be in a _lab_ ,” Fitz protested. “Same as we are here. Why on _earth_  do we need to scale a wall,” he gestured weakly at one part of the obstacle course they’d just failed miserably. “Or hang off the bottom of a truck? Or run a hundred yard dash? Or any of it?”

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. regulations say so,” Jemma shrugged. She groaned massively and tried to stand up for another go, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She slouched back down and fell against Fitz’s shoulder again.

“Can we go back to the lab now?” he asked with a bit of a whine. “I’m totally wrecked.” At her disappointed nod of agreement, he offered a smile along with his sigh. “We can try again tomorrow, if you want.”

Jemma smiled back and tried to stand up again. Wrecked was definitely the right word for it. “Ugh,” she groaned. “Maybe the day _after_  tomorrow.”


	8. Soft

Jemma yawned and stretched in the Academy library. She was sitting cross legged on the floor with her materials spread out on the coffee table in front of her. They'd been studying for _hours_ , and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. And maybe eat an entire pizza.

"Fitz?" she yawned again, turning to where he'd been sitting on the sofa behind her.

He was fast asleep.

Jemma rolled her eyes and sighed, then shook her head. She _knew_ he'd been entirely too quiet for the last half hour or so. She hadn't heard even _one_ request that they knock off and grab some food. She should have guessed he'd fallen asleep on her. Again.

Standing up with a bit of a groan, she massaged the pins and needles out of her left leg while balancing a bit precariously on her right. Fitz wasn't the only thing that had fallen asleep. Ugh. She pointed her toes and stretched out her leg and winced as the blood flow returned to normal, and Fitz managed to sleep through it all.

As she put her foot down, finally able to stand normally again, she looked at Fitz and bit her lower lip. Then she looked around the library to see if anyone were looking at her. Secure in the feeling that she'd go unnoticed, she leaned down and did something she'd been wanting to do all semester, ever since they'd become friends.

Reaching out a tentative hand, she gently touched Fitz's curls.

They were incredibly soft.

He stirred then, no doubt because of her touch, and she shifted her hand down to his shoulder.

"C'mon, Fitz," she said in the most annoyed tone she could manage. "Wake up, already! I'm hungry."

Fitz wiped his eyes and squinted up at her, clearly as annoyed as she sounded. "'Bout time," he grumbled.


	9. Cold

"Pass me the-" Fitz made a face and gestured impatiently at the microwrench he needed.

"Here," Jemma handed it over distractedly while continuing to watch the readings on her computer.

Fitz shivered as their skin made contact. "Why are you always so bloody _cold_?" he complained. "Ruddy _ice cubes_ for hands," he continued, muttering now.

"Cold hands, warm heart," Jemma said, squinting at her screen and highlighting a result she wanted to take a closer look at. It was the same thing she always said when Fitz complained of her cold hands. And he complained of them a lot.

* * *

"Seriously, Jemma?" Fitz said after he'd smiled for a selfie with her. "We're in _South America_. How are you this freezing? It's hotter than an oven out here." Scrunching up his face, he swatted away a fly. 

"Obviously, my body is more efficient at cooling than yours is," Jemma rolled her eyes. Fitz had accused her of being a walking air conditioning unit two weeks before, and she wasn't about to let him forget it.

* * *

"Tell me that you're not Hydra."

Fitz felt foolish even saying it, but if _Ward_ could be... 

"What?" Jemma asked, looking at him like he were crazy.

Nothing in the world made sense anymore. They were living in a motel. SHIELD was in ruins. Skye had wiped all of their identities. He couldn't even call his mum and tell her he was okay.

"I know that it's ridiculous," he admitted. "But I just need to hear you say it."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, scared that she might not do it. Scared she'd tell him he was being an idiot, and then he wouldn't hear the words, and then he'd wonder. He didn't want to wonder about Simmons. Not about her.

Her skeptical look held for another moment or two, but then she leaned in closer and looked him in the eye. "I'm not Hydra."

The relief that washed through him was palpable, like a weight lifting, but he didn't know just _how_ much it meant to him until she placed her hand on his knee.

"I suppose they wouldn't want you, anyway," he joked lamely, trying to find an island of lightness in this sea of utter crap. "You'd turn all of Hydra into ice with your wee little hands."

Her massive eyeroll was enough to make them both laugh, however briefly, and Fitz felt a little better about things.

* * *

Jemma checked Fitz's bandaging, worrying over whether he'd done it right. It was ridiculous really. They were trapped at the bottom of the ocean. If he'd done a poor job of setting his arm, that was really the least of his problems. 

Wiping the back of one hand across her sweaty brow, she dragged her hair off her face and laughed.

"What?" Fitz asked, frowning and looking at his sling. "I didn't do _that_ badly, did I?

"No," Jemma said, smiling at him. "I was just thinking we could use my hands to keep the swelling down."

"Better than freezer packs," Fitz agreed, smiling back.

* * *

"Can I-?" Jemma asked carefully, but Fitz jumped anyway. "Do you mind if I-?" she gestured toward the kettle.

"Hmm? What?" Fitz said, heart pounding almost through his chest. "'Course not. Go right uh. You can go."

"Thanks," Jemma smiled tightly. Things had been awkward ever since she'd returned from Hydra. Fitz couldn't even look at her, and every time he did she was overwhelmed with guilt.

Moving with efficiency, she made herself a cup of tea. The silence was deafening, and she pressed her lips tight together so that the tears in her eyes didn't start falling.

"Jemma?" Fitz said hesistantly as she turned to go. "Can I-? I just want to-"

She looked at him expectantly, hoping he would say he missed her because she missed him so much.

Instead, he touched her hand.

"It's cold," he said, and he sounded relieved. He even smiled a bit, which she hadn't seen since they'd been in the pod.

"Cold hands, warm..." She trailed off when their eyes met, and now the tears were blurring her vision.

Taking her tea, she turned swiftly and left the room.

* * *

"There's nothing to discuss," Fitz said, shaking his head grimly and adjusting his pack. They were friends again. Wasn't that enough? Did she really have to dredge things up from the literal bottom of the ocean?

Moving past her to go find Coulon, he was surprised when she took his hand.

"Maybe there is," she said, and the look on her face...

"Fitz?" Coulson called, ruining the moment.

Fitz froze, not knowing what to do. He had to know what she meant. If he didn't, he'd go mad.

Squeezing her fingers in his, he said the only thing he could think of.

"Cold hands, warm heart?"

Jemma sucked in a breath and pressed her lips together, and her nod was all he needed before he left.

* * *

Jemma shivered as they walked around the base. She couldn't seem to get warm, despite her hot shower and the hoodie she wore. 

She let Fitz do most of the talking, and she concentrated on their hands twined together.

Her hand in his was the only thing about her that felt warm.

* * *

Fitz looked up at the ash falling down on them, and then he looked over at Jemma. 

"I think we're supposed to hold hands now," she said.

It seemed the universe might have changed its mind about them.

He smiled when her cold little fingers slipped into his palm. "Might as well be snowing," he commented. "Your hands are sub-zero."

They looked into each other's eyes, and they both had the same thought.

* * *

Jemma curled herself more snugly around Fitz, pressing a kiss to his chest as he brushed his fingers through her hair. 

"Fitz?" she said, her voice muffled as she spoke into his shirt.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, and when she looked up he was frowning.

Shifting her position so that she was above him looking down, she smoothed his frown with her fingers.

"For not giving up on me," she said simply.

He captured her hand in his and brought her fingers down to his lips to kiss their tips, warming them up with his breath.

"Wasn't even an option."

* * *

"Jemma," Fitz said, stopping their kiss and taking a breath, trying to slow things down so his brain could catch up. 

"Yes?" Jemma asked, eyes closed and very hopeful.

"Your hands are freezing."

She laughed, and he did too, and it helped a bit with the nerves.

"Are they?" Jemma asked, still breathing quickly. She pressed them against her face and shivered a bit. "Ooh. They're like little ice buckets, aren't they?"

Fitz blew on them, warming them up, and enclosed them in his. She was cold and he was hot, and somehow, together, they were always just right.

"Do you think you can brave it?" she asked, smiling broadly. They were really going to do this, weren't they?

"I'll do my best to power through," he joked, looking into her eyes. She was the amazing thing he'd ever seen in his life.

And then they were on the bed, and everything felt right, and nothing could hurt them in this moment.

Not even her cold hands. Because she had a warm heart.

 


	10. Without

"What do you mean you don't like mushrooms?" Jemma asked, closing her text book and looking at Fitz as if he were crazy.

In her opinion, he was.

"They're a _fungus_ , Jemma," Fitz rolled his eyes. "I don't eat fungi!"

"But-"

He held up his hand to stop her before she could start. "I don't like them," he said firmly. "And no scientific justification for eating them is going to change my mind, so don't even try."

Jemma slumped back on the sofa with her arms crossed and a surly look on her face. "Fine. Then you can just pick them off," she said loftily.

"Or, and this is just an idea," Fitz snarked. "We could not have them on there to begin with."

"It's hardly a pizza without mushrooms," Jemma argued. "It's not like I'm asking for anchovies."

Fitz made a disgusted face.

"We agree on that, at least," Jemma smiled. She heaved a sigh and sat up again, grabbing her phone. " _Fine_. I'll order half with and half without."

"But-"

"And if you want _more_ than half, you'll just have to pick them off."

Fitz stuck his tongue out at her. Then he grinned. "Alright, then."


	11. Inspiration

Fitz groaned and threw his pen down on the table.

"I give up," he said, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, come on Fitz." Jemma cheered him on with a smile and a shake of his shoulder. "You know what they say. Genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration."

Fitz scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he agreed sarcastically. "And you know who came up with that one? _Edison_. Man never perspired a day in his life!"

Jemma sighed and continued to work on the problem. She'd heard Fitz rant about Edison enough times to be able to recite his arguments back to him, verbatim.

"The man was a _hack_! He _stole_ the ideas of others and claimed them as his own, then refused to even pay them for their work!" Fitz's accent got thicker as he got more impassioned in his outrage. " _Nikola Tesla_ is the man we should thank for the electric age, not stupid bloody _Edison_!" He was waving his hands about now, and he picked up his notebook just for the sheer satisfaction of throwing it down again with a loud **thwack!**

"Yes, yes," Jemma interrupted him impatiently. "And I've bought you the tshirt already. But if I could just get your attention back on the job at hand?" Her tone was polite, but there was an edge to it that Fitz well knew.

" _Fine_ ," he agreed gracelessly. "But once we've got this all sorted out, I get to make you watch that documentary again."

"Yes, Fitz," Jemma agreed patiently. She patted his knee absently, even as she went over their test results again. "Now, come on. We need to solve this problem! Everyone is waiting on us!"

Fitz dragged his hands through his hair and peered at his own screen. "Don't remind me," he muttered. He hated being the obstruction to a project. It made him feel guilty and guilt made it harder to think which just delayed everything even more.

"It's fine, Fitz," Jemma said, her tone upbeat even though her eyes were worried. "Necessity is the mother of invention, right?"

"Necessity is a motherfu-"

"-Fitz!" Jemma interrupted him.

"Sorry!" he apologized defensively. "But it is!"

"Do you want my help on this, or would you rather rant and rave all night?" Jemma asked, pushing her chair back as if she were readying to leave.

"Ideally?" Fitz grumbled. "Both."

When she rolled her eyes with a sigh of frustration, he relented.

"Alright, alright," he gave in. Reaching out, he tugged the sleeve of her blouse to pull her back into the chair she'd half risen out of. "Just... stop it with the cliches, will you?"


	12. You

After the nightmare months of looking for Jemma and the almost-worst moment when he'd almost lost her again on that godforsaken planet, Fitz hadn't let her out of his sight.

Well, within reason.

He didn't let go of her for the entire journey back to the Playground, nor when she was getting her medical.

Well, unless it was absolutely necessary.

She'd been silent for two days now, clinging to him like a lifeline, but not yet speaking about what had happened to her. The possibilities of what might have occurred on that hellscape were enough to make his blood run cold, but he was trying to be positive. Be cheerful.

He was trying to be for Jemma what she always was for him.

It was exhausting.

He didn't mind, though. Jemma was back, and that was the important thing. Nothing else mattered now except helping her get better. Even if that 'better' wasn't the same as she'd been before.

He was getting a whole new appreciation for how she must have felt when he'd first woken up from his coma and been unable to communicate.

So he did what she'd done. He bustled around her, making her comfortable, and he kept up a steady stream of upbeat conversation with questions peppered throughout on the off-chance that she might respond.

He missed her voice so much.

They were in the kitchen now. He was making them some tea and a snack and nattering away, and she was sitting still and quiet at the counter. She was barely moving, except for her eyes. They never stopped.

"Don't worry," he said in the kind of peppy voice he usually hated. "I've not forgotten how you take it. I won't be so cruel as to make you drink mine."

He smiled as he poured in the milk and left off the sugar. Stirring it twice, anticlockwise, he handed it over.

She huddled around it. Two days she'd been home, and she still couldn't seem to get warm. It was the shock, the doctors said.

It was a shock to Fitz to see her cradling a mug of tea as if it were a precious lifeline. For all he knew, it was.

"And I've got some fruit here. Apples, cut up. And a satsuma! Not even Christmas yet, but I worked my magic," he waggled his fingers at her. He stopped immediately when she cringed away from him.

"Right."

Taking a deep breath, he tried to think of another neutral thing to say.

"May was talking of making spaghetti for dinner tonight. How does a good old spagbol sound, hey?"

His smile only lifted one side of his face, unsure as he was whether anything he was doing was right.

"Maybe there's something else you'd like?" he asked, lobbing another conversational bowl in her direction. "What did you miss most while you were... away?"

He cringed as he finished his question. The last thing he wanted to do is remind her of what she'd been through, and here he was-

"You."

It was so quiet, he almost missed it.

He stopped mid-sentence and looked at her with every bit of hope he'd ever felt in his life flowing through him at the same time.

"What did you say?" he asked, half-holding his breath.

Jemma swallowed with a frown and licked her dry lips. Then she cleared her throat before trying again.

"I missed... you," she said. And finally her eyes focused as they flicked up to his face.

Fitz's eyes filled with tears, even as his chest filled with happiness.

"I missed you too, Jemma," he said, voice fervent with emotion. "I missed you so much!"

Pulling her into a tight embrace, he finally allowed himself to let out the sobs he'd kept in since she'd come back to him. They were happy tears. Made all the happier when she hugged him back.


	13. Confused

" _That_ ," Jemma said, pointing and wrinkling her nose. "Is _disgusting_."

Fitz looked at his fries with a hurt expression. "They're just chips, Jemma. Bits of potato that have been fried in oil. I mean, I get that it's a bit gross when you describe it that way, but they're _delicious_. Really."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "It's not the _chips_ that are disgusting, it's what you've _done_ to them." She shook her head and squinted in distaste.

"What?" Fitz frowned and looked at the blob on the end of his fry before he popped it into his mouth. "Tastes good to me," he shrugged.

Jemma made an even more dramatic face and shuddered. " _How_ can you _eat_ that?" she asked. She actually pushed her own tray away from her slightly, even though her burger was only half-eaten and she had a large pile of chips left herself.

"You won't know unless you try," Fitz grinned. Then he dipped another chip and ate it with gusto. "It's avante garde cuisine, Simmons," he argued. "A whole new flavour palette for you to try out. Unless you're a picky eater all of the sudden?"

That got to her, and he knew it. She was of the opinion that unless you had an allergy or particularly strong issues with texture, most things could be got down if one just tried hard enough.

Lifting her chin imperiously, Jemma stole one of Fitz's chips, even though she had more than enough of her own, and slowly swiped it through the top of his chocolate milkshake. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and ate it.

Fitz watched with baited breath as she went from cringing to considering to conceding his point. By the time she opened her eyes, she offered him a wry smile.

"Alright, so it's not _entirely_ disgusting," she admitted gracelessly. "But how on earth did you discover it? And why does it taste good?"

Fitz enjoyed the confusion on her face for a long moment as he loaded up another chip and savoured the flavour.

"When you get a takeaway and the chips fall into your milkshake, you have two options. Abandon those chips or eat them anyway." He picked up another fry and pointed at her with it. "And I leave no chip behind."

Jemma laughed and scooted her tray back towards herself. She'd recovered her appetite.

She was also eyeing his milkshake.

"As for why it tastes good? Sweet and salty. Two great tastes that go great together."

He was smiling his superiority when she reached out to dip her fries again. He smacked her hand away before she could.

"Oi! Get your own milkshake."


	14. Affection

Fitz ripped at the wrapping paper eagerly, destroying it completely his haste to get the gift open.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently when he was momentarily stymied by tape on the box flap. He pulled out his Leatherman and cut through it, finally seeing what it was that Jemma had got him on her trip to Los Angeles.

After taking it out of the box, he blinked at it a moment before levelling Jemma with a glare.

"Seriously?" he asked in his most unimpressed voice.

"I saw it, and I thought of you?" Jemma offered innocently. Her inability to keep her mouth from twitching into a smile put the lie to her act.

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Fitz snorted. He placed the cup down on the coffee table with a distinct thunk.

"What's so funny?" Daisy asked. Then she looked at Fitz's face. "Or, y'know, _not_ funny?"

"This," Fitz said, pointing an accusatory finger at the object in question.

Daisy came around to flop down on the sofa next to him and picked up the mug. She immediately laughed.

"Oh, man. That is _perfect_ for you."

Fitz crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

"Oh my god! It even _looks_ like you!" Daisy laughed.

She brought the mug up next to his face for comparison.

"I was supposed to be getting a gift right now, and all I'm getting is _attacked_."

"Aww," Daisy put the mug down and gave him a hug.

"Oh, Fitz," Jemma curled up against his other side and hugged him too.

"We tease because we love."

"Then you must love me a _lot_."

"No arguments here."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Grumpy Genius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265610) by [theresalwaysaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theresalwaysaway/pseuds/theresalwaysaway)




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